


I Will Fear No Evil

by iamnightbird



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnightbird/pseuds/iamnightbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not too long ago, the world went to hell. Literally. Not much is known about the virus that plagues what was once our world, but rumor has it that it was a group of scientists paid by hunters that never lived by the code. Paid to try and develop a cure to lycanthropy. And the cure never came -- instead, they created monsters that made werewolves pale in comparison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Fear No Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends. I know that it has been a long time since I've posted here. And I want to remedy that. If any of you used to follow me on here, you may recognize this piece of work. I went back and tweaked and edited it, and I plan on now continuing it to get back my muse of writing -- and I have several other projects planned.  
> The virus mentioned in the summary will be elaborated on in later chapters, as I have a lot planned for both it and the story line.

_Stiles’ voice penetrates the darkness, jolting Derek from his illusion of sleep. Fluttering his eyes open and rolling over on his side so that he could better see the teenager – a frown pulling at his lips minutely. “Have you ever read the Bible, Derek?”_

_The wolf let out a long sigh, but he relented to humor the boy. “My family wasn’t really overly religious. With our kind, it is a huge debate on – if it even existed – whether or not we would even be let past the gates into Heaven. Some would argue we’re not natural. While we really are one of the most natural things there is. Like with any human, any wolf has the potential to be good or bad.” With a life like Derek’s, even before all this, he found it really, really hard to believe in a god of any kind. But especially now when man never felt so alone in the world._

_Stiles merely just hummed at Derek’s response initially, eyes fluttering closed like he was going to fall asleep without explaining the premise of why he was asking such an out there question. Stiles didn’t strike him as the religious type. “Mom wasn’t huge into it, either. I mean, I don’t really believe it myself. Too many contradictions and hypocritical rules for my liking. Common sense shit, some of it, you know? The Golden Rule. Don’t kill. But, there is some good to it – in theory. Mom … She loved the Psalms. Have you heard of them?” Derek didn’t answer, although he didn’t think that Stiles expected an answer because he kept rambling on. “The most popular, I think, is Psalms 23. I don’t remember much of it for shit – but I keep remembering one part. Lately._

_“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”_

_\---_

  


It was Derek and Scott’s turn to go out scouting the area that they had been in for a few days; the group planning to move on in the next day or two. It had been the same group for a while by this point and they fell into a routine wherever they were. Derek, Scott, Melissa, Cora, Shiloh (Lydia’s little sister), a school teacher named Ashley, and a construction worker named Shaun.

Out scouting for food. Supplies. Medicine. Things they could always use more of, and never seemed to have enough of. It was Scott who collected most of the medicine – usually sporting a list with his mother’s handwriting when they found intact pharmacies. Derek recognized some of the names, where others he didn’t. Before all this mess, Derek never had any need to memorize medical terminology. It didn’t benefit him, or his pack. Until he began mixing more and more with humans. When his family was alive, they did have human pack members. But, he was so young that he was never tasked with helping them when one got injured.

Derek couldn’t help but notice the thing that Scott was always sure to grab. Adderall.  Derek never mentioned it. Even while the Adderall piled up in their too crowded RV.

Thus far today, they hadn’t found anything but a couple of dead raiders. While they did search the bodies, they found nothing of use. Their bodies looked as if they had already been searched. And, by the looks of it the poor bastards underestimated whoever was supposed to be their last victim. There were no gunshot wounds. Whoever it was got the better of them with a blunt object – maybe something piercing. But… no gunshots. Derek was a little impressed. Although, the ‘victim’ probably got away with his/her share of injuries as well.

Derek almost felt sorry for the dead raiders. _Almost._ He couldn’t find it in himself to pity people who turned their back on humanity (for all intents and purposes) when humanity was all anyone had left.

“Walkers, five o’clock,” came Scott’s voice almost an hour and a half later. Derek paused, one hand instantly moving to the gun at his waist out of instinct. Claws and fangs were great weapons against the undead, but Derek found that he wasn’t too fond of getting close enough to the freaks to utilize them.

Sure enough, Scott was right. Three of them. They were at least a football field and a half away - right up next to a boarded up and abandoned home. Nasty, growling, and they looked to be fighting someone. Someone human.

Scott had a soft spot for picking up lone humans. And this one looked young, too, from what Derek could see. It’s not like Derek was heartless and _wanted_ to watch innocent people die. It’s just that they were struggling as it were. Don’t get him wrong, he’d protect anyone in their mismatched group. But…- “Scott, no,” the older wolf grunted, grabbing the teen’s bicep firmly. “Just keep walking. They’re holding their own pretty well anyway.”

The human was all long limbs and no grace. And Derek refused to acknowledge why that made his heart clench. But, the human was holding his own despite his movements that obviously lacked proper training. All teenage spunk and human fight for survival. And sometimes, that’s all it really took. Some people just lost all will to fight – that’s what does a lot of them in. And while they couldn’t afford another stranger’s mouth to feed, Derek admired his drive.

One of the creatures had already fallen, the much too skinny human in the distance kicking another to the ground, the sound of it’s chest cracking under the weight of the human’s foot audible to Derek’s ears. Scott, however, didn’t budge. From where they were standing, the human wouldn’t see them unless they called attention to themselves. Scott was staring at the quickly ending fray like a puzzle he didn’t have all of the pieces to. Eyebrows knitting inwards sharply and lips parted, a frown evident against them as he narrowed his eyes just a bit. Soon, his expression shifted from that, to shocked. Almost like he had seen a ghost. Something rattled in his throat as he inhaled sharply. “Scott, what are you-“ Derek started. But, he got drowned out as Scott dropped his head back and howled the moment the remaining zombie fell.

Derek’s eyes bled blue for a moment, “Have you lost your _goddamn mind,_ McCall? Why the hell would you –“ Scott cut off his snarling words with a hand on his chest, free hand gesturing in the direction of the human as if saying _just fucking look._ Scott’s features were fiercely determined.

Derek followed Scott’s gesture in time to see the human lower his weapon and straight up at the howl. Despite him being just that, human, Derek didn’t miss how his reaction to the call was almost… pack like. His head turned in the direction of it as his other hand pulled his hood down. This revealed light brown hair that stood askew in every which direction. Derek’s heart jumped into his throat and he honestly felt like his world tilted a little bit, hand on Scott’s bicep tightening for balance. He shot a look at Scott in time to see the other wolf look at him with a knowing nod, then once more averting his attention to the human. The human rose a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. And, even at the distance between them, Derek couldn’t miss those stupid, familiar amber eyes. His voice caught in his throat for a moment before--

\------

The small-framed teen pulled his hood further over his head, making sure that the material covered his ears - eyeing a boarded up home in the short distance. His father’s old sheriff’s jacket, despite all he had been through, was still pretty much in one piece. It was a bit ratty here and there. There was a hole in one of the pockets; it was discolored in places. Bloodstained. Dirt caked. But, he wouldn't have it any other way. He would stop wearing it only when he was physically _unable_ to wear it. Be it when it completely falls apart, or if he... - Well, he didn't actually want to think about the alternative, thank you very much. He ran his sleeve across his nose where he was still bleeding from those godforsaken rogues that decided that, since he was small, he was an easy target to be jumped. Well, fuck them. At least he left them with some injuries to remember him by – and they actually were probably dead by this point. And, probably most importantly, he left with his supplies. Because that was his life source. Even if, at the moment with him injured, the pack just weighed him down. Now, in this new hell that he called life, being injured was far more dangerous than it used to be. Being slowed down because of a twisted ankle could mean the difference between life and death.

Lucky for Stiles, he wasn't going to let something as small as a bum ankle fuck up his chances of surviving. He had already gone through _so much_ hell, those handful of raiders weren’t going to ruin it for him. Besides, with every horrible zombie Sci-Fi he had ever watched coming to life before his eyes, he still had the will and the fight to destroy whatever walking corpse came his way. He just wished he took notes when he marathoned _The Walking Dead._ Even if the qualities of this flavor of walker wasn’t exactly the same.

He obviously favored his uninjured, left ankle as he rounded up beside a building... Walking too close to a building could be a bad idea; he knew. The undead corpses liked to hide in the cold of the shadows and come out whenever they smelled warm flesh. And, fuck it if Stiles wasn't a bleeding fish in the middle of shark infested waters with his fresh injuries. Ants to sugar. But…  Maybe he was just looking for trouble. Besides, it was more exciting than trying to ‘stay safe’ when there was no point. Might as well have a little fun; because what else did he have?

He halted when he heard the telltale sound of one of those disgusting corpses groaning behind him, fingers of both hands tightening around the handle of the metal bat as he, slowly, turned over a shoulder. His bat was old – rusted from blood. On the blunt tip, he had taken great effort in shoving a railroad spike he found through the metal.

There was just three at that time (he could handle three _easy_ ). The first was about six feet from him, giving him the stereotypical groans and slow walk. He turned up a lip, and pointed the end of the bat at the closest one, as if accusing it of something. "Didn't your mom ever tell you that it's impolite to stare; much less rip apart their flesh?" Talking to the reanimated dead-- that's where Stiles got his kicks now. He'd say it was better than talking to yourself, but he did that too. Humans weren’t made to be alone; and that went double for Stiles Stilinski.

Without much of a warning (not that one was needed), his muscles flexed and the sound of cracking bone was heard as the bat made contact with the first walker's head- shattering the skull as it fell to the ground lifeless. "Come on, freaks. Let's dance."

He swung the bat a second time, finally in his element . A place where his hyperactive disorder was a good thing; something that kept him alive. A dance that he knew the moves to. No stumbling all over the place with his two left feet.

Stiles, for the most part, still looked like _Stiles._ Even while his hair was longer, sticking up askew in a very Harry Potter-esqe style. His once pale body was littered with the purple and green bruises that resided alongside his freckles. His clothes hung even more loosely on him because, being alone, it was hard to find enough food to be enough nourishment to offset how much he walked a day. The dark bags under his eyes were a sure sign of proof that he hadn’t been sleeping much. Hard to when you have to worry about the walking dead chancing upon your resting place. He had the constant jitters; he couldn’t stop his fingers from shaking. It was a result of him not having the right amount of Adderall in his system; since he could never find enough. And, at the moment, he was unmercifully out.

The fight didn’t last too long, finally digging the railroad spike into the skull of the last one when he heard it. A _howl._ It couldn’t be a _real_ wolf for many reasons. He had no idea _where_ he was, but he was still certain that real wolves weren’t native to it. Albeit, _now,_ no animals were native _anywhere._ He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen a cat. Or a squirrel.  Or, hell, even a goddamn _bird._ It was strange, to say the least, wandering the streets. The powers lines were long dormant. It was always _dead quiet_ if there weren’t walkers around. Not two in the morning quiet – but _quiet._ No lawnmowers purring. No children playing and screaming. It was eerie. He figured he’d get used to it, but he never did.

The howl came from a _werewolf._ He was sure of it. And not just any werewolf…. His eyes darted over to the source of it as he lowered his hood with a shaking hand. He then used that hand to shield his vision from the sun and narrow his eyes against it; two figures in the distance coming into view. His words caught in his throat when he realized who the howl had come from, feeling like a rug had just been pulled out from under his feet, “Scott…”

**Author's Note:**

> I would love any kind of reviews. I am not adverse to criticism. In fact, as long as it is friendly, I welcome it. It helps me to improve my writing. Something I strive so much to do.  
> Also, please be warned, this first chapter was not beta'd.


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